by Sally Breen
I lean against the glaring white marble of the kitchen counter trying to ride out the urge to push up the edges of Jade’s flirtatious slip, to reach under the silk and run my hands over her body. I close my eyes. Grip the bench, cool and dry against my skin. Jade won’t look at me. She hands me a drink shyly and I realise with surprise, but not without satisfaction, that the deference in her eyes is for me. She’s never seen me like this before and I’m glad my skin’s still damp, that it’s darker than his, that my body is drawn tight over my bones. I bet she never comes with him.
Not bad, is it, Jade says, waving an arm around, trying to shift focus.
I sip my bourbon, not bothering to cover up my indifference.
Very nice.
There’s four bedrooms – you want one?
I’m sure that’d go down real well.
I guess. Not as well as this, she says, shaking the ice in her glass. Another?
I nod. There’s too much white in this place for me. The white on the inside infusing all the outside light and Jade’s white gown. I’m starting to feel dizzy.
Sensing my distress Jade says: Let’s go upstairs, to the deck.
Sure.
I follow her, wishing I didn’t have the urge to grab her from behind as she moves up the stairs, her hips level with my face. Jade’s refusal to do things my way is kicking in a chain reaction I’m becoming more familiar with. We step out on to the rooftop terrace. And it’s a little better. Jade slips off her robe. I don’t look away. Naked, she steps into the spa nestled in a raised section of the deck, painted a demure blue. I try not to think about her body because I’m getting freaked about this new vibration between us. The same deal but all charged with frisson. Jade’s acting like this tension has always been there but, in spite of the alcohol, I’m not used to wanting her; instead I survey the manicured green of the golf course, looking for Harvey. I sit, and slide my cane chair out of the view.
Don’t worry, she says, he’s blind as a bat.
And this, of course, is amusing but I feel slightly panicked not just because I’m in danger of being busted but because I’m worried that Jade is slipping into this charade, this life. She’s coming across too natural. Like she’s stopped looking at the bigger picture. I’m trying to remind her that there are other agendas, and trying to contain myself at the same time, but she’s continuing to act unfazed. The more she ignores the issue the tenser I become, watching her splashing in the spa, smiling at me. I know my presence has affected her, but when will the games she plays with me ever be enough? Why would she persist with a guy like Harvey? Why this need for an entourage?
Jade sits up in the water slightly so that her breasts are visible in intervals above the shifting bubbles. She’s trying to distract me. I find it arousing but also annoying.
What are you doing, Jade?
What do you mean? She looks at me with the same modest expression I’ve seen her use on Harvey.
Cut the bullshit. I’m not him. Your little schoolgirl Lolita thing is not going to work.
She looks over at me, surprised at my tone and I think a little excited that I’m so worked up. She shoots me a tiny grin. I can’t hold in my anger any longer, can’t contain it. Jumping out of my seat I storm over to the spa. I feel like tearing the damn thing off its hinges and tipping her out. I let rip.
What’s up with all this fucking shit with Harvey, Jade? Where are we? You’ve just about got him, haven’t you?
My arms fly about uncontrolled and the frustration of my stupid gestures is getting me even more pissed off.
What’s left? What else has he got that you want?
She has gone rigid and alert. She speaks cautiously, her mouth just above the bubbling water: Nothing, it’s all there. I’ve got the money.
She looks at me square on, the sexiness fading and I fight the urge to ask her how much.
So, is this the way out? I gesture around to make my point.
There’s a pause. Then she says: I’m sick.
What? I kick the edge of the spa.
Jade eyes me nervously.
Not sick-sick, but he thinks I am and this is taking time out. I didn’t know how else to play it. She looks over at me pointedly. And you weren’t around; you’d gone away.
I never went anywhere, Jade. You basically told me to fuck off.
Did I? I don’t remember.
Jade says this straight out but I’m not convinced.
You’re such a stupid bitch. Do you think I don’t know what’s happening here? I can’t believe you’re falling for all this shit. The cars, the guest lists, the fucking lifestyle, for God’s sake.
I lean in to her, take a punt.
This is what you’re running from, remember?
I’m so out of control I can’t look at her. I go to the edge of the deck and stare defiantly out over the course, my back to Jade, thinking about Harvey pottering around with his little putter. No balls of his own. She is quiet behind me. I listen to the bubbles frothing. I take a deep breath but the action doesn’t do anything to calm me. I can’t fathom why she’d want to go any deeper. Shaking my head in exasperation, but without turning around I say: Why a bloody illness? He’s going to feel guilty now, he’s gonna be hanging around.
Jade raises her voice; shrill, she sounds genuinely hurt.
Because I’m in too far. You were right, okay? There’s too much heat on me now if I walk; can’t you see that?
Jade stands, clearly distressed, all the water slipping off her.
Pass me a towel, she says.
I don’t move. I turn around to look at her, not smiling.
Get it yourself.
She looks me in the eye but I don’t hold her stare; instead I make a point of checking out her long legs, the dark patch of hair between them, her small pretty breasts. For the second time this afternoon she makes a futile attempt to cover herself. I watch as she steps awkwardly out of the spa, reaching for a towel.
Covered now, she seems to regain some of her composure. I lean against the waist-high wall of the rooftop, unmoved. She bunches the towel at her breasts, deliberately raising the fabric a few inches so the tops of her thighs are in view. She smiles apologetically but I know what she’s doing. She moves towards me, the towel just held together.
I can’t tell anymore whether I want to fuck her or hit her. This whole thing with Harvey is making me fall apart. I run a hand through my hair, rub my head searching for clarity, for some kind of solace. She gets in close. I ignore her. She is standing just inches from me, her head hung low, level with my chest, rising and falling quickly with the pressure of my heart, beating fast and strung out.
I’m sorry. She says it so softly I almost believe her. I look away, dismissive.
Don’t apologise to me, Jade. Just fix it.
She lifts her head and I realise in disbelief she’s making a move to kiss me. I grab her shoulders because I want to throw her, to shake her, to get her off me – but the shove I give over is harder, quicker than I thought and her head snaps back, sharply. The force of my aggression surprises me; how much I like how hurting her feels. Jade struggles to get out of my grip.
Let me go! She thrashes out, really frightened now but she’s no match for me; her fear won’t make me stop.
No, Jade. You listen to me. I twist her around roughly so she’s looking over the edge of the wall. My body pressed up against her. One of her arms twisted behind her back. She grips the ledge with her other hand for support. I’m pushing her, ramming into her. I want her to know the trouble she’s caused. She starts to protest. I cover her mouth with my hand. I want my finger in her mouth. I want her to stop speaking. I lean into her ear. I can’t stop myself.
No more games, Jade.
She squeals in panic, wrestles her mouth free.
What do you want from me?
Get rid of Harvey.
Jade stops struggling but I maintain my hold. Both of us are still.
Right, and then what?
Jade
, stop fucking around. I think we both know who we really want.
And I can’t quite believe I’ve said it – can’t help it: Jade’s ambivalence in the spa, in this place, about Harvey, has driven me to this point. She goes limp, finally realising what could be the full extent of my program: for me this has become about so much more than money and it has nothing to do with these new feelings I seem to be having for her. Since the day we saw PJ in the café this thing between me and Jade has only been about revenge.
Jade turns her face towards me, a slow look of pleasure, of admiration, I think at first – but then I wonder, is it a look of fear, of resentment, of being found out?
How did you know? she says.
Jesus, Jade, you’ve never given me enough credit. You’ve got till the end of the weekend to end it with Harvey.
I let her go.
The towel falls off. I back up. Jade reaches for cover, crouched up against the wall. I stop at the top of the stairs. She looks at me imploringly. I don’t budge. I shake my head and say: Get it together, will you?
Then I turn around and leave.
All night I worry about what I’ve done, staying in my room, making a complete mess of the mini bar again, just in case she calls. But she doesn’t. I’m anxious that even for someone like Jade I’ve overdone it. By eleven-thirty I’m walking again, reluctantly, rather haphazardly, along that trail that leads to the Mosman, feeling like Jade’s inside me, like her madness has migrated to my skin. I can’t stop thinking about my hand on her mouth, my finger brushing against her wet lips. About what could have happened. The fine line between wanting to be inside her and wanting to take her out. Just touching her hangs me out over the edge.
Their lights are on. I walk with shaky purpose along the perimeter of the pool, keeping my head down, worried about where my feet might take me, concentrating on doing one thing at a time. I don’t look up because I can hear her voice, worse than it sounded today.
There’s not much peripheral noise at this hour but it’s not quiet enough, unfortunately, for me to discern exactly what she’s saying. I pass the Mosman and continue to walk round the edge of the pool, taking a deck-lounge and shifting it rather noisily into a position that allows me a direct line of vision.
There’s a bunch of teenagers swimming and getting it on in darker areas of the water. They don’t take much notice of me; I’m far enough away from them not to be a concern and anyway, they probably think I’m drunk, which I am. I’m glad the kids are here; they give me an excuse – anyone passing will most likely assume one or two of them are mine.
I cast my eyes back towards the Mosman. Most of the curtains are thrown back, white gauze awry, privacy not an issue. When I see her, I groan inwardly. Jade is coming apart. Her arms are flailing about. Just like her to overdo it, I think, trying to absolve myself from blame.
Harvey is moving in closer, attempting to grip her hands as she nudges and pushes and prods him. They are in the lounge area. The white gauze billows and it’s like they’re moving in and out of perspective to my breath and the drink coursing through my body, and the curtain as it shifts, revealing and shadowing them. Part of me wants to get in there and save her, to neutralise this moment, but I know this is the drama I wanted. This is the scene I asked for. Harvey moves to the couch, head in his hands. Jade towering over him, unsteady on her feet. I like what’s happening to Harvey but I dread what might be coming.
Ripples of light bounce off the pool and run along the outside walls of the Mosman. The concrete seems to move. From inside I can hear Harvey’s muffled voice, raised, but not as high as hers. I listen, straining to hear the words as the pitch of their fight builds, their anger coming over sharply. He stands up, gets in her face. My hands grip the edges of the deck-lounge. Jade flings something at the wall. Glass breaks, the sound of shattering like a flash. The faces in the pool pull apart, into the white moonlight, searching for the source of the noise, looking, in the same direction as I do. I stand up, anxious for her. She drops to the floor. Cowering.
For a few seconds there is the kind of quiet that comes after any kind of smash. We wait. Then I’m gradually aware of the water trickling through the filter. Someone in the pool giggles. The faces in the water turn back to their own business.
Jade doesn’t move. Harvey stands over her. Not amused, not helping. I can see just the curve of Jade’s back rising and falling, wracked with what look like heavy sobs. He leans over her, their talk is muted now. Calm. Everyone has lost interest. But I know that look, the stance, the power over her. Whatever she’s done, whatever she’s said to him, hasn’t worked. He reaches out, pulls her up roughly, her back held tight to his legs, his hand holding her head up. Jade is trapped by his weight. Trapped by this place, by the play of his hands and mine.
I can’t watch this anymore.
I make a move to leave and a wave of nausea rips through me. Before I can contain it, the vomit rises in my throat, comes out in a torrent, splaying all over the pavers and the tropical garden. Some young guy in the pool yells out: That’s gross, man.
But I don’t care. I stumble past the pool.
So what? I say, to no one in particular. Go tell your daddy.
There is a man’s silhouette in a window. A faceless man watching Jade inside a tall building full of blank white rooms. I am trying to protect her. To stop him from seeing her. I reach out but the windows won’t close. The windows are thick, heavy, like aquarium glass. I try and signal for Jade to move but she can’t hear me. She is in the final room; he is getting to the last window. The only one not open. A black hole. I am between him and her – her last defence. He breaks straight through me. Flinging myself up on the bed I wake to the sound of shattering mirrors, shattered glass.
I twist around frantically, looking for Jade, trying to see her. Slowly, I realise the gravity of the dream, the reality of where she is. I can still taste the sick in my mouth. Fully clothed, my legs locked in the twisted sheets. The effort to get out of them is almost too much. I need water desperately. I need food.
In the ‘Village’ I order a late breakfast. I sit alone in the outdoor café feeling jittery and out of place, not attached to the world, wondering where Jade is and how she’s doing but I’m not well enough to work it all out. I try and concentrate on the huge bottle of mineral water I have ordered, considering something harder. My head can’t process the information of yesterday, of last night, not here, in this bright morning where my thoughts are clouded over with the nightmare, with the recurring dread that Jade might be playing me or that she’ll do something stupid. I can’t think straight in this place. I am an oddity; a single nocturnal man scowling through his sunglasses at the decorous scenes.
There are families everywhere, and arrogant teenage kids; their indifference, starched white, is purely economic. I see this is a place where a rich man, smoking a cigar, brings an estranged daughter and doesn’t talk to her. A place where guys from interstate, clad in white linen shirts, take out their wallets to impress their weekend wives and flick their noses nervously as if embarrassed by the lack of walls. A place where a man might bring a woman to cage her or undo her. A place that’s ultimately doing nothing for Jade and nothing for me, it seems. I finish the water, too weak to eat, and head back to the safety of my anonymous room.
I am woken by a knock on the door. Glancing past the thin gauze on the windows I realise the day is still running. The knocking continues and I rummage on the floor for my clothes. Pulling on my shirt to open the door, I’m glad to see Jade but on closer inspection she looks awful. There is sweat; a thin film still resting on her skin, her hair is wet at the roots closest to her face and her eyes are the strangest I’ve ever seen them. Wide and vacant. She doesn’t say anything and as I reach to pull her inside she steps away from me, carrying something, wrapped in a light soft fabric. I look at her quizzically and she pulls back the material to reveal a tiny sleeping face.
A baby.
It takes a couple of seconds for me to conv
ince Jade to come inside, when all she keeps saying is: Let’s go for a walk in the garden, let’s go for a walk in the garden …
Finally I entice her to move through the doorway. She sits on my ruffled bed and unwraps the little baby, so young I can’t tell what it is. I move around the room. Too hyped up to be still. Trying to appear casual, not wanting to instil panic; trying to control my own panic. I want Jade to register that I think this is okay. That I can cope with her.
She’s not touching the baby, only staring at its closed eyes, the peaceful face. I had anticipated some kind of collapse, I’d pushed it, I was ready for it, but I wasn’t ready for this. I try to make my first question to her seem relaxed.
Where did you get this kid, Jade?
She’s Susan and Andrew’s. Harvey’s sister.
Jesus, what are they doing here?
They came for lunch; they live up here. Harvey invited them, to show off, I guess.
I can’t hide the relief I feel that the baby isn’t some stranger’s. It makes things a bit easier, but we still have to get it back before any of them realise it’s missing. I look at the clock; it’s nearly four pm.
Where are they, Jade? Do they know you have her?
Jade ignores the question.
They call her Samantha, she says looking at the baby, but I don’t like that name. I don’t like them.
Right. Okay, but where are they, Jade?
They’re taking a nap. And she is talking to me but cooing like she’s talking to the baby. They’ve drunk a bit too much, she says. We had a nice big lunch at the villa. They won’t be waking up.
The baby-talk really alarms me. So does the faint idea she might have drugged the lot of them. All the complications of her bringing this damned bundle to me here start to open out in my imagination.
I try to say calmly: Don’t you think you better go back? We don’t want Harvey to suspect anything.
Jade doesn’t look like she’s in a hurry. She seems pretty drunk herself, and has that glazed look she gets whenever she’s remembering. I wonder what this sudden stuff about a baby is all about. Maybe she’s trying to tell me something, but why has she chosen this act to do it? I move over to the bed, thinking if I lie down with her for a moment Jade might agree to take the baby back. We lie in silence. I’m trying to hide my panic; Jade’s entranced. I’m aware of her breath, the steady exhalations coming from her bottom lip, fallen slightly open in wonder. I find her emotion frightening.